


Picture Window

by femmestuck



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Car Accidents, F/F, F/M, Hospitals, Humanstuck, New Year's Eve, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmestuck/pseuds/femmestuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a car accident on New Year's Eve, Eridan contemplates Roxy Lalonde and his relationship with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> this work is heavily inspired by ben folds' song picture window and i highly recommend you listen to it! also i do have pretty specific headcanons for some characters and will reference them, so i apologize if they conflict with yours and annoy you x:

Her hair is spread on the pillow beneath her like a halo, golden with a hint of red, and she sleeps like an angel, serene and at peace. All that he can think of is the way she must have looked twenty minutes ago, her halo of hair replaced by the nimbus of shattered glass that comes when someone flies through a windshield. The red in her hair would have been redder then, he thinks, or maybe it would have looked silver in comparison to the blood that slowly oozed from her forehead. He doesn't understand how she can look so angelic, so innocent when she's causing him this much pain - he used to think she was his savior but now he wonders if she's not the devil instead, come to torment him for his haughtiness, his wealth, and okay, so he rolls up his windows when he sees a black kid in a hoodie, but that's just the way he was raised. He wants to stroke her hair back and whisper that it's going to be okay but there are several problems with that idea and he lists them in his head:

  1. I could fuck up the stitches
  2. I could wake her up
  3. I hate her
  4. I don't know if it's going to be okay.



He sighs and sits in the chair by the window, the huge window that gives an illusion of freedom to the prisoners of Skaiopolis General Hospital, that shows the city alight with the joy of a new year. It is a city unaware of one girl lying in a hospital bed because even though she promised him she wouldn't, she did, she drank, and then she went to get ice, and now he doesn't know if she'll even wake up - truth be told he isn't sure if he _wants_ her to wake up. He loves her so much, but she's so much. Too much. She wanted to be a manic pixie dream girl but the mania overtook the dream and the bottle fairy she grew into killed the pixie and then she tried to kill herself, drank and smoked (and he thinks once she cut but won't tell him) because she never got enough of Mummy's love and it's not like anyone cares about her, anyway; frankly, they treat the drinking like a joke, and they'll probably still be laughing at her funeral. R.I.P Roxy Lalonde - Comic Relief, Addict, Died Bright Yellow Due to Jaundice From Her Goddamn Liver Failing. He runs his hands through the fading purple streak in the front of his hair and runs them through again, trying to process what's happened, because even though he's there beside her in the hospital it doesn't make sense, because after all she promised him that she wouldn't have more than a champagne at midnight and now it's 11 PM and she smells like cheap whiskey.

Some assholes in the distance are firing sparks into the air, red and gold and green, and he wants to scream at them. It's not even midnight, and even if it was what's their damn reason for celebrating? Nothing changes at the tick of a clock. Change takes time, and 11:59 will be the same as 12:01 except a ball will have dropped in New York. Big fucking deal. Things drop all the time. Sometimes they shatter.

He looks back at her and feels hot tears coming to his eyes and he tries desperately not to let them out, they're stupid and feminine and his father always hated it when he cried, and they begin to pour out uncontrollably, stinging his cheeks and damaging his pride. He grabs for the scarf he took off when the room began to overheat from his anger and his fear, he buries his face in it and it smells like her perfume and her favorite grape vodka and he presses his lips to it and sobs openly. He hates and loves her in the same breath. She shifts in her bed but does not wake. He thinks as hard as he can on her waking, looking to him and smiling sadly, saying she's sorry, so sorry for all the worry and she'll never drink again, whispering his name in that breathy tone she uses when it's just the two of them late at night in his bed watching whatever stupid old sitcom is on at 3 in the morning. Hey. Eridan, I love you.

Roxy always says that imagination is the purest magic there is and even though he knows magic is bullshit he tries, hopes that maybe if he tries hard enough it will become real long enough to wake her up and make her okay, but she doesn't move, just lies there in her hospital gown with her stupid fucking halo and her chipped nails and her bruises and her cracked ribs. He looks at the clock. 11:15. If she was awake she'd want him to sleep. He always stays up too late and he works so hard since his daddy cut him off, that's why he was going to the party later than she was, work, work, work. If he'd been there maybe he could have stopped her from going out and cracking her head open on the pavement at approximately 10:45 PM. Parents are supposed to teach you not to blame yourself for other people's failings but all Daddy Ampora teaches is that anything and everything's your fault if you want to run a company, and dating classless, drunken sluts sure does qualify a mistake that's only being compounded by her current state.

Eridan tries for a moment to think about the other half of the wreck, the man in the SUV who left the scene with minor bruising, who's not pressing charges against a pretty young thing like that and hopes she finds the Lord, but he can't focus on anything except the demons in his head that scream at him:  _it was you, it was you, it was you._ Some nurse comes in to check on Roxy's vital signs and she asks him if he wants a cup of coffee and he shakes his head, he doesn't like coffee, he likes tea, and he doubts this godforsaken place has his brand. Then she leaves and he's alone again, the kind of alone that crushes in on his body and makes him cry harder like a scared little boy hiding in the closet from Daddy's belt. He wraps his fingers tight around his scarf like he wants something to choke. The clock ticks on and on and the bursts go off in the sky and she doesn't wake up. He wonders if her friends know. Her sister. Her sister will go mad when she hears it, that quiet rage that she's mastered so well. The Lalondes, two sides of the same coin: Roxy, the wild one, the older one, twenty-two years old and an alcoholic since sixteen; Rose, twenty, the stoic, the severe, effectively the mother since good old Ms Lalonde drank her mind away just like her daughter's going to. He watches the scene play out in his head, Roxy shrinking like a child from her sister's silence. Chastened, but not forever. She'll drink again that night if she gets the chance, which she will, with his fully stocked liquor cabinet. He considers texting Cronus and telling him to empty it all out, but his older brother is probably off screwing some high school sophomore, and by the time he checks his phone it'll be too late.

The nurse brings him coffee. She sets it down on the windowsill next to him 'to cool' and then she leaves. 11:25. Eridan opens the window as wide as he can, which is not that wide at all, and feels the bitter cold hit his face. There is no snow tonight, only the empty winter sky. He smells smoke. He pushes the coffee off of the windowsill. He watches it topple down to the roofing below. He wonders if she'll wake up before 2013.


	2. She'll Still Be Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i use too many parentheses and roxy wakes up

She has never been a fan of staying up for New Year’s. In fact, she is tucked up in bed when the phone rings. Rose grumbles and shoves her phone away, knocking it onto the ground, where it buzzes and plays a lengthy violin piece (for all her severity Rose is remarkably disorganized and has a habit of losing her phone at least once a day, and the long ringtone makes it easier to find when she invariably has someone call it for her) until another girl walks into the room and bends to pick it up. She answers with a soft voice and leaves Rose to her sleep.

"This is Kanaya," she says. "Rose is sleeping." She expects maybe it's a drunken call from Rose's sister or any of their various friends, and is surprised when she hears instead the cool voice of a doctor, articulated and calm no matter what news he delivers. She nods, forgetting in her horror that physical movements are not audible, and hangs up after a quick dialogue - yes, we want to see her, yes, we'll be there soon - running back into Rose's room, skidding to a halt inches from her bed. "Rose. Rose!"

The massive heap of blankets groans and shifts, a pale arm extending from its mass to reach for a pillow to weaponize, but Kanaya grabs it out of her hand, tosses it aside, and reaches under quilt after quilt to grab her shoulders. "Rose Lalonde," she says sternly and finally and with a groan Rose opens her eyes and glares. "Your sister has been hospitalized."

She is up in an instant, blankets trailing around her messy room as she runs to her dresser to grab something, anything, and then her keys as she runs out the door with Kanaya at her side. They've only been dating for a short while but Kanaya has already become used to the intensity of her, and in this instance she has no qualms with it, considering the circumstances. The old green shitmobile refuses to start initially, revving and revving into the night air. The clock on the dashboard reads 11:48 in harsh blue lights, and Rose swears as she hits the steering wheel. Finally the car comes to life and they are off, going as fast as they can without breaking the speed limit, because after all, it's New Year's and everyone's drunk. Rose doesn't know what got Roxy hurt, but she has an idea.

Luckily they live close to the hospital and Kanaya, being a volunteer there, knows her way around, and they find the room in no time and oh god there she is: her body pale and her stupid boyfriend (Rose thinks, she can hardly keep up with whether or not they're fighting) at her side and crying into a scarf. He doesn't seem to hear them enter, too focused on his own pain, perhaps, because although his sobs are no longer hysterical they are wracking his body and he grips the scarf tight, pressing it against his face, his glasses in his right hand and his bowtie undone. Rose walks purposefully to her older sister's side - her older sister, what a laugh, Rose had always been the responsible one, she SHOULD have been born first - and sits down on the side of her bed, taking the cold hand without expression. Kanaya stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do until Rose holds out her other hand expectantly and she understands that Rose needs her. She drags in a chair for herself from the hallway (the scraping of its wooden legs against linoleum is the only sound in the room save the heart monitor, and finally awakens him to their presence) and sits down close to Rose, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tight. The three of them are quiet and still against the  _beep, beep, beep_  and the sterile scent and the crushing fear that Roxy Lalonde will not wake up.

"I'm sorry," Eridan croaks through the thick knit of his blue and purple scarf, lowering it slowly, and Rose loathes every inch of him, every stupid freckle and the dark brown roots appearing in his stupid streak of purple hair, and she especially hates that he dares to reach for her sister and stroke a piece of hair away from her forehead. She knows that he's telling the truth but it doesn't stem her anger, the idea that he should have prevented this all from happening. She does not reply. He whispers a second apology, directed more at the girl in the bed now, whose hand he reaches for and strokes with his thumb, across her knuckles and down against the flow of her veins (veins like icy rivers across a field of snow, he notes, and he swallows as he thinks again on how pale she has become) and back up and down, soothing, placating whatever may be raging on inside of her. He hopes she comes to soon, and he's sure of it now. He can feel the younger Lalonde's glare on him and despite the apologetic look that her girlfriend is giving him, he hates himself.

The nurse returns yet again, more coffee in her hands. Kanaya is the only one who takes it, and she drinks gladly, both hands on the styrofoam cup, inhaling the steam like it will fix all the problems in the world. Rose lets go of her hand reluctantly and instead lays it on her own knee. It clenches into a fist against her sweatpants.

Rose looks at the clock. It's 11:59. The three of them can hear the people in the street whooping and cheering, can see the flashes of light in the distance as the ball drops in New York and it's officially 2013 (in their time zone, at least). Kanaya, for lack of anything else, kisses Rose's cheek, hoping that some gesture of normality might help even a little bit. (Rose doesn't even react, her face as sober and silent as ever.)

There is a stirring beneath the sheet. They tense visibly, all three of them, as they watch and wonder what comes next, and Roxy's eyes open slowly, bloodshot and glazed. She pulls her hands gently away from Eridan and Rose and tries to sit up, though she is instantly overcome by a flood of dizziness and lays back against the stiff pillow. "What happened..?" she asks slowly, her voice slurred (from sleep, medication, or whiskey is uncertain) and confused. Kanaya smiles softly in relief and Eridan laughs nervously, gratefully, but Rose remains still and silent save for her hand reaching for Roxy's chin, turning her head softly in her own direction. Roxy blinks and it begins to dawn on her where she is and she immediately bites down on her lip. "Shit," she mumbles, and her sister snorts almost derisively.

"Shit is right."

"What happened?"

"You were in a crash." Eridan speaks quietly and with a stutter, a stutter he tries constantly to hide, and Roxy swallows and looks to him, blinking slowly. "Drunk driving."

Roxy cannot help but wince then, both at the pain in her head but also because of the accusatory tone in his voice. It must have been the other car who was drunk. She was quitting. Working on quitting. It was a resolution. She and Eridan had come up with it together because he was scared for her and she was scared to lose him (although she was scared, too, that should she get sober the her that she was would disappear and she would lose him anyway) and she had been trying so hard...the shot had tasted like cheesecake. She'd tied a cherry stem with her tongue. Now she was in a hospital and the pain was hitting her and suddenly she was afraid. Rose stands from her chair and walks a short distance, beginning to pace back and forth. Roxy tries again to sit up, this time opting to adjust the bed instead, trying to avoid confrontation at all costs. Eridan reaches for her hand and she, ashamed, pulls it away, tucks it into her lap. She assesses the damage on her own body: there are violently purple bruises on her arms and she can feel cuts there, too, as well as along her cheek. Then there is the cast on her leg, the throbbing pain across the back of her skull that she cannot explain but through theory, assuming that her head was split open by glass or pavement or metal.

She lets the bed sink back down, lying and staring at the ceiling, pulling her blankets over her head with a wince. She does not want to be seen and she stays there for a time while her sister glares at her boyfriend and Kanaya excuses herself, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to punctuate the raw air of the situation with her awkward worry and mothering. As she leaves the passes a tall, thin boy followed shortly by a wild-haired girl, storming precisely in the direction that she came from, into the same room, and when he enters it he begins to shout.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein some yelling happens

“You fucking CUNT, she could have died!”

Eridan shrinks away from the shouting and Rose is immediately on her feet between the two of them.

“Sollux, she’s-”  
“Stable, I know, they fucking told me, NO THANKS TO HIM!”  
“Let her talk, darling, it’s going to be o-”  
“DON’T TELL ME IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY! She could have fucking died!”

Eridan’s face is buried in his scarf again and there is soft sobbing from under the sheet. Sollux is shaking with anger. His eyes flash dangerously behind his glasses. His girlfriend holds tight to his arm, trying in her soft voice to calm him down, but all he can think about is the fact that his best fucking friend could have died and her fucker of a boyfriend didn’t do anything to stop it.

“Did you really fucking think you could leave her alone like this? She’s a fucking lush, you asslicker, it’s New Year’s fucking Eve!”

Roxy cringes beneath the blankets. The crying grows a little louder and her hand reaches out for Eridan’s. He isn’t looking. He doesn’t notice. The near-silence is just as deafening as Sollux’s shouting and slowly the skinny boy looks down at the quivering heap on the bed. He sinks into Rose’s former spot and pulls the blankets away from Roxy’s face. Her eyes are bloodshot and sad and sorry. He rubs her forehead and plants a soft kiss on her cheek, suddenly silent and near tears. He sniffles and she turns away (at least tries to) towards Eridan. Really, he’s the only person she wants to see right now. Sollux inhales and exhales and glares across her broken body towards him. “Aradia,” he seethes. “Let’s step outside so I don’t fucking ruin him.” Normally he’s the last intimidating person anyone could imagine, lanky and lisping with thick-rimmed glasses, but he and Roxy have known each other since kindergarten, and everyone knows they’d kill for each other. He may as well be the Hulk. Aradia takes his arm and leads him out into the hall, sitting down in soft, sage green chairs and stroking his hair as he lays his head in her lap. Roxy looks at Rose with a desperate urgency in her eyes and Rose exhales, following the pair outside, out past the doors into the wing of the hospital, into a bathroom. She locks herself into a stall. She cries. “You were getting better,” she whispers.

“You were getting better.”  
“I know.”  
“Then wh-why-”  
“I don’t know.” She is sitting up again, staring down at her broken leg. He has moved to the window, watching the festivities below. He looks at his spilled coffee. It has begun to snow and the flakes catch in the brown. He imagines them catching in her blood and feels sick.

“Eridan, I’m sorry.”  
“You’re always sorry.”  
“I know.”  
“But you never stop.”  
“I was doing well.”  
“And then you did this.”  
“It’s New Year’s, I can get better, I _will_ get better, I’ll stop and I won’t touch another shot, not ever, I’ll be good this time, I pro-”  
“You always say that, Rox!”

He turns to her, shaking, running a hand through his hair, on the verge of tears again. “You always say that and it never fucking happens! You’ve been saying that since we graduated!”

_“…and when we graduate we’ll move to New York, and you’ll be a famous rock star, and I’ll – hic – I’ll be a hacker for the CIA.”_  
“Isn’t that more of a Washington thing?”  
“Shut up.”  
“Kiss me.”

_He tugs on the pocket of her shorts and she grins, leans down to kiss him. He takes a long drag of a cigarette stolen from his brother’s leather jacket and strums a few lazy chords. “Singing ‘bout my Roxy girl,” he warbles, and she laughs, sinking to the blanket at his side and stealing the cigarette. She only smokes when she’s with him. He only drinks when he’s with her. Their self-destruction goes hand in hand. She puts the cigarette out in the mud next to them and wraps her arms around him. He tries for a little while to play despite her weight but he soon caves, putting the guitar aside and pulling her close. She grins and kisses him, sliding her hand up his chest, wrapping her arms around him, her legs, pressing the two of them as close together as she can manage. He nips at her lower lip (she tastes like vodka and strawberries) and tangles his hand into her hair, listening to her breathing as it begins to hitch softly in her throat. He strokes his hand down her arm, under her t-shirt, caressing her ample curves as he travels to her bra. She is so soft._

_“I love you,” he groans, his voice throaty and hot in her ear, and somewhere in between a gasp and a moan she begins to cry._

Sollux fumes outside the hospital room, squeezing his eyes shut as Aradia rubs his head. “She’ll be okay,” she coos, smiling as she always does, as if she knows more than anyone else in the room. “She’ll get better…maybe now she’ll finally stop drinking…” She plucks his glasses off his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, whispering sweet reassurance and words of love and hope. He sniffs and presses his face the soft red fabric of her polo. His head hurts.

Kanaya steps into the bathroom and sighs softly, waiting outside the stall that sobs. “Darling, she’ll be alright,” she says, swallowing her pride (and OCD) and pressing her cheek to the stall door. “Everything will be alright.” The voice behind the door only cries harder and it opens slowly, revealing Rose to look like a young, frightened girl, curled up on the toilet seat, her hands buried in pale blonde hair and her face buried in her knees.

“I’m scared.”  
“I know.”  
“I hate her.”  
“I know.”  
“Hold me.”  
“Yes, love.”

Kanaya embraces Rose with warm arms and kisses her head until her sobbing ceases and they intertwine their fingers, walking back to Roxy’s room, where a girl in cupcake scrubs is holding a sobbing Roxy’s hand.

“H-he hates me,” she sobs, lying flat and pathetic and looking much smaller than she is. “He ha-ha-hates me, Janey!” The nurse sighs and lays a gentle kiss on her forehead, stroking her hair and the back of her hand. Rose loses what hint of color she had regained and makes a vow to end Mr. Ampora, preferably as violently as she can manage. Kanaya squeezes her hand and clears her throat, drawing Jane’s attention to the two of them.

“Oh, gosh,” she says softly, before she gets up and wraps them both in a big hug. “Oh, gosh.” Rose doesn’t react, though Kanaya awkwardly pats her back before she lets go and leads the two of them over to the side of the bed. “Look, Roxy, Rose and…um,”

“Oh. Uh. Kanaya Maryam.”  
“Rose and Kanaya are here!”  
“I don’t c-care.”  
“Roxy.”  
“Sh-shut UP, Janey.”

Jane sighs and rubs her forehead. “You need to get some sleep, girly.” Roxy just shakes her head and, with a pained groan, rolls onto her side, staring towards the window. Rose exhales. She looks at Jane and nods towards the door, and she and Kanaya both take the hint. They leave. Rose sits down next to Roxy. When they were younger and Mom had been drinking, when they were scared and lonely, they would curl up in bed together, and Rose would tell stories while Roxy held her protectively. As they grew older Rose became protector and storyteller, and then found she was the only one in the bed, crying herself to sleep and imagining her older sister telling her things would be okay. There is definitely not room for both of them in this hospital bed – Rose is perched on the very edge – but she strokes her sister’s hair and she begins to speak softly, weaving a tale about wizards and kittens and all of Roxy’s other favorite things, until finally and still crying the shattered girl falls asleep. Rose inhales deeply and pokes her head into the hallway, beckoning Kanaya back in, and they sit down on the much-too-hard loveseat together. Rose dozes off, her cheek on Kanaya’s breast. Kanaya does not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kidanoche on tumblr is the best


End file.
